Worry
by simplyleah
Summary: Harry Potter has a sister: Isabella Potter! After almost three years with the Dursley's, will everything be better when Remus Lupin and Sirius Black come take them away, and Bella starts at Hogwarts? NAME MAY CHANGE. NOT HARRY/BELLA!
1. Chapter 1

(FOR REFERENCE) **THE PROPHECY:**

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..."

_**Background information**:_

To make this story work, I kind of had to switch a few things around, mostly dates and years and that kind of stuff. So here is how everything is in this story:

_Isabella Potter: _Born July 30th, 1980_  
Harry Potter: _Born July 15th_, _1991

As of where we are in this chapter, it is early July 1994. Harry is almost three, and Bella is almost thirteen. James and Lily Potter were murdered by Lord Voldemort on October 31st, 1991. Sirius Black was _NEVER PUT IN AZKABAN _(at least not yet, **hint, hint**). I know having all of the dates and stuff different may be kind of confusing, but I hope you'll be able to catch on! **Oh, and, by the way, I may not own the characters (I LOVE YOU STEPHENIE MEYER AND J.K. ROWLING!), I do own my plotline. Enjoy!**

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_**July 8**__**th**__**, 1991  
Godric's Hollow, England**_

"_Dad?" I asked, turning from the corner of the room that I was painting. Harry was due to be born in just over a week, so we were trying to get the nursery done. _

"_Yeah, sweetheart?" he said, tapping the visor of my hat, not pausing in his work. _

_I bit my lip, facing the wall. "Yesterday, Bill and Charlie were talking about . . ." My dad turned to look at me then. "Well, they were talking about You-Know-Who, and they heard Mr. Weasley saying some things about—" I gulp. "Have they really been using the Unforgiveable Curses on wizards?" We'd been in hiding for a while, only in contact with other members of the Order, and the Weasley boys and I had been growing more and more suspicious about how much our parents were keeping from us. _

_Dad was quiet for a moment. He gently took my paint roller from me, and set both his and mine down on the paper-covered floor before reaching out to wipe a smudge of paint from my chin. He sighed. "What's going on, dad? What have you and mum and everyone been keeping from me?"_

"_A prophecy has been made," he tells me, "and Dumbledore thinks it may involve Harry."_

_My eyebrows furrow. "But . . ." I gasp. "No! Is You-Know-Who going to—"_

_Dad kneels down a little, so that we're eye-to-eye. "Isabella Potter. What is it that your mother and I told you?"_

_I roll my eyes. "That if I don't stop worrying, I'll end up like Bill's Auntie Muriel and will have gray hair by the time I'm Tonks's age."_

_Dad tapped my nose. "Precisely. And do your mother and I ever lie to you?"_

"_No, but—"_

_Dad chuckles lightly. "Not to worry, Bells. Not to worry."_

My eyes snap open to the sound of someone banging on the door to my closet of a room. I sigh, rolling over.

"Get up, get up!" my great prune of an uncle shouts through the door. "I must leave for work in an hour, and my car had better be clean!" I hear his heavy footfalls as he continues down the hall, undoubtedly to the kitchen where he will swallow at least four donuts whole before Aunt Petunia is even awake, by which time he will be sipping a cup of coffee and reading the Muggle newspaper.

I sigh and look over at Harry, who's still asleep next to me. "Harry," I whisper softly, shaking him lightly. "Harry bear, we need to wake up!" Harry turns over, but doesn't open his eyes. Knowing Uncle Vernon will be coming back soon if I'm not up and washing the car, I choose my last resort: I take away his teddy bear, Bean, who was named after Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Our mum made Bean for Harry from scratch; he's soft and fuzzy and brown with huge hands, feet, and ears, and a black nose that's at least ten times as big as hiss small, too-close-together eyes, which I've had to sew back on more than once. He has a big blue and white striped bow tied around his neck.

Harry's bright green eyes immediately open, one of the only things the two of us share; other than our eyes, I take almost completely after our mother, and he after our father. And our marks from the Dark Lord are different; mine is a lightning-shaped mark on my forehead, and Harry's an almost star-shaped mark below his right collar bone. Harry pouts at me. I brush back his hair from his forehead, and pull him into my lap. I hand Bean back, and rest my chin on Harry's head for a moment, before kissing his hair lightly and setting him back down on the bed. I hurriedly get dressed in one of my cousin Dudley's old shirts, and a pair of shorts that Aunt Petunia bought for me earlier on that year; she'd said she didn't want me to embarrass her in boy's clothing in front of our neighbors. I quickly get Harry dressed in one of Dudley's other outfits from when he was younger. Walking out of our small closet under the stairs and into the kitchen, Harry follows behind with Bean in a death grip and a pacifier in his mouth. Trying not to react when I see Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon talking in hushed tones at the table, I grab a bucket and sponge from under the sink, and the soap from the kitchen counter.

When I turn to leave the room, I see that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon are staring at me. I glare back, taking Harry's tiny hand in my own.

"You know, Bella . . ." Aunt Petunia starts, tone condescending, her small mouth pursed unattractively. ". . . the little brat's almost three." She nods to Harry.

I try and keep my face straight, my emotions in check. "I don't know what you're talking about," I say, even though I do.

"Why of course you do, you ungrateful little—"

"How dare you lie to us!" Uncle Vernon interrupts. The tips of Uncle Vernon's ears are going red.

"I really don't know what you mean," I press. But of course I do. Every witch and wizard does. Because if they don't start showing magical ability by the age of three, there's a chance that they are a Squib, or a child born to magical parents without any magical ability. And, of course, weird things had happened before when I'd been with him—but I could never be sure if it was me who was making them happen, or Harry.

Uncle Vernon laughs then, a harsh and cold laugh. "But of course. Isn't lying a trait she must have inherited from her dratted mother?" Aunt Petunia laughs as well.

My eyes fill. "Don't you dare talk about my mother like that! You haven't any right to!"

They both laugh again. "And what are you going to do about it?" Uncle Vernon says. "Nothing!" he chortles. "Nothing, because your weak and spineless, just like your poor mummy!"

I grind my teeth together. "Stop it!" I growl. Harry starts to cry. I squeeze his hand tightly. "Stop it," I repeat. "_Now._"

**Remus Lupin POV**

I follow Sirius through the corridors, trying my best to keep up with his quick pace. "Sirius!" I exclaim. "You're being completely irrational—"

He turns to face me, his gray eyes blazing. "I am being _irrational _about the fact that I haven't seen, heard from, or heard about my godson in almost three years? I'm being _irrational _about the fact that my godson and his sister have been living with those god-awful relatives of Lily, while _we're _supposed to be the ones taking care of them? Oh, yes. I'm being _irrational._"

I clear my throat. "Well," I say, "in that case—" I stride forward to catch up with him, and, together, we make our way through the halls of Hogwarts, the place where everything started, until we reach the entrance to Dumbledore's office, where we stop and stare at the gargoyle-guarded entrance. And now I'm seeing the flaw in our lack of planning. Sirius and I sigh, sending the stone statue fierce looks of annoyance, when, suddenly, the gargoyle jumps out of the way. Sirius looks at me, and I shrug. We make our way up the stone stairs, grinning when we see Dumbledore waiting for us at the door to his office.

He smiles back from his half-moon spectacles. "Hello, boys."

"Professor Dumbledore," we both say at once. I send Sirius a look.

"Professor," Sirius starts, after a moment. "We've come to ask about—"

Dumbledore sighs. "I know what you've come to ask about. It's what you've always come to ask about. But my answer still remains no."

"But Professor," I cut in. "Bella already knows everything—she was almost eleven years old when it happened. Wouldn't it be much better for her and Harry to be in a more protected environment—"

"—perhaps with me and Remus at Grimmauld Place—"

"—or with me and Sirius at Lupin Manor," I cut in, sending Sirius a look.

Sirius sighs. "It would be much safer than with those Muggles," he reasons.

"And Bella needs to prepare," I add. "If I am correct, first term starts next month. Sirius and I could help her catch up on everything she missed in first and second year, and she could start here—"

"It would do her no good if she ever had to face You-Know-Who without any training whatsoever—"

"And we want her to be as prepared as possible, of course—"

"Yes," Dumbledore says, reasonably.

Sirius and I exchange a look. "_Yes?" _we both repeat.

Dumbledore nods. "Yes. I'd been waiting for you two to think of a reason other than the fact that the responsibility of the young Potters should belong to you."

Sirius rolls his eyes, but he's grinning, and so am I.

"I'll arrange for you to be sent to the Dursley's home to retrieve Isabella and Harry tomorrow afternoon. A month _will _be enough time for you to go over the curriculum with Bella, won't it? Oh, and I'd recommend keeping them at Lupin Manor, seeing as the Order still communes at Grimmauld Place, and we would very much like to keep the Potters out of such business, wouldn't we?" Not pausing in his speech, Dumbledore retrieves some books from his shelves in his office, which he dumps into my arms. "Before returning to Hogwarts, Isabella will need to take and pass two exams—one for year one, and one for year two—which I will, of course, send to you when you are sure she is ready." Gesturing to the books, he continues, "Those are all books she will have to read before returning to school. She should receive her acceptance letter, well, by the time Mr. Potter's third birthday arrives next week, and I will be expecting a response by the day after Miss Potter's. Now, boys, if you'll excuse me, I _do _have some business to tend to—as you have pointed out, next term _does _begin in just over a month, and we are still short a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—"

"I'll take it!" I exclaim, before I can stop myself. I clear my throat."I mean, if you'd like, I wouldn't mind being here as a professor. And I'm sure it wouldn't hurt for me to be around to keep an eye on Bella; if she's anything like how we were when we were her age . . . well, you'd have your arms—"

"You're hired," Dumbledore cuts in. "I will be sending an owl with the details on the position to the manor later on this week. I'll expect you to be returning on the Express on September 1st with Isabella. Now, I really must be running . . ." He ushers Sirius and I out of his office, following behind us, but going the opposite direction—and deeper into the school.

**Isabella POV**

After my near-meltdown in the kitchen with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, Harry and I are placed into lockdown: no food, no shower, no leaving the cupboard (unless Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon need me to clean) at all until the next morning. After an hour or so of being cooped up in such a tight space, Harry's starting to get antsy.

"Harry, why don't you try taking a nap?" I suggest sometime later in the afternoon.

He shakes his head stubbornly and crosses his arms across his chest. "No."

"We can play . . . Go Fish?" I found an old deck that Dudley had been planning to throw out just a few weeks before.

"Alweady play that!" Harry argues. He's still having trouble with his 'R's. "No, no, no!" He hugs Bean to his chest.

"Honey, there isn't much I can do," I say, softly. I pull him closer to me, and tuck his head under mine.

He sighs. "Why is Uncle Vew-won mean to you?" he asks, quietly.

I think for a moment. Why is he, really? The only reasons I can come up with is that I'm a witch and that Aunt Petunia and mum had a lot of problems growing up, but . . . "I'm not sure, Harry," I say finally. "I wish I knew."

Harry looks up at me and frowns. "My tummy huwts," he tells me.

"I'm sorry, baby." My heart aches. None of this is his fault. If I'd just shut up and left it alone this morning, he could eat. "Here," I say, scooting over a little. "Role onto your belly." He does, and I sit next to him, tucking my legs under me and running my hand gently up and down his back. He sighs softly, and his breathing starts to slow and become more measured. I keep rubbing his back for a few more minutes before he falls completely asleep. I ease down and onto my back, scooping up Bean from where he sits at the end of the bed. I hug the old bear to my chest, curling my body around Harry's and grabbing the one blanket we have, throwing it on top of us.

When I wake up again, I'm surprised to find that Harry and I both slept the entire afternoon—and all night. In fact, Harry is still asleep next to me, curled into a tight ball under the blanket. Looking him over, I notice tear tracks on his cheeks. My heart tightens and my stomach twists. Gently, I run my fingers through his soft untidy black hair, so different from my tangled red locks. Harry's eyes flutter open, and he tiredly kisses his tiny finger and reaches out, tracing it along the scar on my forehead. Smiling slightly, I kiss my own finger, and draw a tiny star through his t-shirt right below his collarbone. After I'm done, he frowns slight, holding my hand flat against the area where his scar is. With my other hand, I brush his hair out of his eyes.

"What's wrong, baby?" I ask softly.

"Huwts," he tells me.

My heart speeds up. Is he okay? "What does, Harry?"

He presses down on his scar with my hand. "My _scaw,_" he responds.

I frown. "Take off your shirt, baby, and let me look." He frowns but nods, and immediately begins pulling his t-shirt off. It gets kind of stuck on his head, but when I help him get it completely off, I have him lay down on his back, so that I can have a good look at it. When I do, I notice the color is a bit deeper red than usual, and when I run a light finger over it, I can see that the skin is a bit more raised than usual.

Harry grimaces in pain. "It _buwns,_" he says.

"Okay, baby," I say, picking him up and grabbing a new t-shirt. "We'll go put some ice on it and see if it feels better, all right?" He nods miserably, and tucks his head into the crook of my neck. I shove the door open, heading into the kitchen quickly, grabbing a dish towel and filling it with ice from the freezer. The house is weirdly quiet. When I look over at the clock, I see that that is because it's almost twelve o'clock in the afternoon, so Uncle Vernon is at work, and Aunt Petunia and Dudley are probably out. And even though the thought is like a fresh breath of air, I still feel nervous being out of mine and Harry's little room.

I grab two apples from the fruit bowl on the counter, and dart back into our cupboard, locking it from the inside. I gently set Harry back on the bed, having him lay back down. I set the towel-wrapped ice down on top of his scar. He exhales heavily. I run my fingers across his forehead, and he's kind of warm—almost feverwarm.

I sit down on the bed next to Harry. "Does that feel any better, honey?" I ask, running my fingers through his hair. He nods. His eyes flutter closed, and pretty quickly he's asleep again. I feel compelled to go back to sleep with him, but I know that the fact that Harry might be sick—and that his scar is hurting—is reason enough to stay awake

Focusing on the steady sound of his breathing, I try to get more comfortable, but my mind just won't stop going over what Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia said yesterday, and the thought of their words makes me nauseous. It's just as I'm trying to block the thoughts from my head, the doorbell rings. I sigh. If no one but me is home, I'm supposed to open the door and get a phone number and take a message. I still have my clothes on from yesterday, so all that needs to be dealt with so that I don't embarrass myself is my hair, which I quickly pull back into a messy bun. I open the door as quietly as I can and leave it open slightly, so that I can hear if Harry wakes up or starts crying. Walking up to the door, I can see two dark figures through the curtain on the window. I get goose flesh on my arms. They ring the doorbell again, and I take a deep breath before opening the door.

"_REMUS?"_

**Hmm. Let me know if you like it or not. I'm not so sure, but the idea struck me this afternoon! I am, though, in love with baby Harry:D **

**Please review! If enough people like it, I should have the next chapter up by tomorrow night!**

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**REVIEW!**


	2. Chapter 2

(FOR REFERENCE) **THE PROPHECY:**

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives..."

**_Thank you SO MUCH guys for all of the great reviews! I hope the note I posted earlier helped clear stuff up for everyone! Before I wrote it, i honestly hadn't even thought that much through it, so thanks to everyone who asked questions. _**

**_IN RESPONSE TO THE ONE ANONYMOUS REVIEW WITHOUT A NAME:_ **Very right! You're the only one who caught on to that. It will play into the story later on!

**As it stands, right now, for pairings:**

(PAIRING: NO. OF VOTES)

Isabella AND Edward: 0  
"anyone but edward' (this made me laugh): 2  
Isabella AND Draco Malfoy: 1  
Isabella AND Bill Weasley: 2

**Thankfully, no one voted for Charlie Weasley. He is, after all, two grades lower than Bella. Remember, the aging is different: Charlie Weasley was born in '82, Isabella was born in '80, and William "Bill" Weasley was born in '79. Where we are right now, Charlie is eleven, Bill is thirteen, and Isabella is almost thirteen. (Charlie will be starting his first year, and Bella and Bill will be starting their third.)**

Goodness, this is confusing.

**Enjoy! :D**

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**Isabella POV**

The sight of my godfather for the first time in almost three years, and on the Dursley's _doorstep_ no less, nearly sends me into a panic attack. I can't speak, and my eyes are filling. Remus, though, scoops me into his arms tightly. He's tall enough—or maybe I'm just short enough—that my feet are off the ground, so I wrap my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist and bury my head in his shoulder, the tears coming hard and fast. When I lift my head from his shoulder in what feels like minutes later, I notice Sirius Black, one of my dad's other close friends, and Harry's godfather, standing behind Remus. I immediately launch out of Remus's arms and into Sirius's, who holds me just as tightly. After a moment, I let go, and wipe my eyes, laughing at my foolishness.

"Sorry," I say. "You're probably here for . . ." I trail off. "What are you here for?"

"You, of course!" Remus exclaims. "And Harry, too! You're moving in with us."

I grin, but it quickly fades. "Have you talked to the Dursley's? Because I'm sure they won't let me and Harry go anywhere . . ."

Sirius pulls out his wand.

"Oh," I say. "Right."

He looks around. "Where is Harry, anyway?"

"Oh, um, he's sleeping." Believe it or not, I'm kind of embarrassed to show them where my brother and I have been living in the past almost-three years. "Come in," I say, and lead the two of them out into the living room, where I have them sit down on the couch. "I'll go see if I can get him up." I quickly go back to mine and Harry's room, where I find Harry completely out of it.

"Hey, Harry-bear," I say softly, nudging him. I gently lift the ice off of his scar, and his eyes flutter open slightly. I get him to sit up, and slide a shirt on over his head. Since he's still completely exhausted, I lift him and Bean into my arms, and slowly carry him out into the living room, where Remus and Sirius are talking quietly, but quickly stop when I get there. They smile slightly at the sight of totally zonked out Harry.

"Sorry," I say, sitting down in the armchair across from the couch. "He's kind of exhausted. He hasn't been feeling well today." They look worried. "It's just that his scar has been bothering him, and he had a little bit of a fever."

"What do you mean, his scar has been bothering him?" Sirius asks nervously.

I push my hair up off my forehead. They both gasp at the sight of my scar.

"Is that—" Remus starts.

"—no, it can't be—" Sirius cuts in.

"It's from You-Know-Who. _Avada Kedavra_." They both flinch. I try and ignore it, but I wish I could say it and flinch, too. "Harry has one too, below his collar bone. But I guess it's been hurting today." I cradle Harry in my lap, and brush the hair back from his forehead with my fingers. His forehead's kind of warm still, but not as much as before.

I hear a car pull up in the driveway. Remus and Sirius must, too, because they both stand up and start heading to the front door. I cross my fingers. _Please let me leave . . . please, please, please. _Closing my eyes, I bring my forehead down to Harry's, and kiss the tip of his nose. "We're going to get out of here," I tell him. "Remus and Sirius are going to get us out."

**Remus POV**

Seeing how great Bella is with Harry makes me so happy. It's obvious how much she loves him. But I can't get over how awful it's been for both of them. With what You-Know-Who did, and how terribly the Dursley's must have been treating them, I can't even imagine how they made it this far, especially Bella.

When the Dursley's get out of their car to see Sirius and I tossing our wands up and down, and spinning them in between our fingers, we send the hardest expressions we can muster, or at least the hardest one I can. Seeing Bella and Harry again—_finally—_makes me want to cry like Bella did when she saw us. All I want is for them to be gone from here, safe at the manor, and for me to be able to hold Bella in my arms for as long as I want. I think that, in spite of knowing for a fact that Voldemort never succeeded in harming her, my worry that she was physically all right had never really dulled.

Vernon Dursley walks up to us with his face as pink and round as a pig's. I glare at him, and whip my wand forward so that the tip of it is pressed to his double-chin. He gulps. "My friend and I," I say, "are just going to take our godchildren . . . and you're not going to stop us. Got that?" The bastard nods, and I have the urge to settle this the old fashioned way—by planting my fist in his face—but resist for Bella and Harry's sake. And although Vernon looks petrified, I'm sure he would have retorted if I hadn't turned straight around and headed back into the house.

"Bella!" I exclaim, walking into the living room. "Give Harry to Sirius. I'll help you grab anything you want, and we'll leave straight away." Sirius gently lifts Harry from Bella's arms and into his, and I feel a pang of jealousy, but quickly brush it off. I place a hand on Bella's shoulder, and she leans into me slightly before leading me to what looks like a cupboard under the stairs. There's a mattress, and some stacks of clothes in the corner, and . . . _No. No, _I don't believe it.

Bella's looking at my expression. She frowns. "I'm sorry it's such a mess," she tells me. Her eyes are filling with tears. She turns away and starts collecting her and Harry's belongings. Inside, I'm seething. They slept _here_ for three years? _Here, _in a place so cramped and dusty and small that nothing alive should ever be inside it? I'm prepared to go back outside and curse the Dursley's for even _thinking _it was alright to keep Lily and James Potter's children in such an awful place—for keeping _any _children in such an awful place.

I try and rein it in though. My anger isn't good for anyone, especially Bella and Harry.

I watch Bella fold all of their clothes, the guilt of not trying harder to get her and Harry out of here sooner burning in my chest. I take a step closer to her, and see that she's crying again, tears of shame or embarrassment I don't know. Noticing me standing closer to her, she hastily wipes her eyes. "Sorry. I didn't—"

"Oh, Bella," I whisper, pulling her to my chest, and holding her there. I kiss her hair. "I'm so sorry we didn't come sooner."

Bella breaks down, sobbing harder than I'd ever seen her cry. Harder than she was even on the night of October 31st, when we found her crying into her dead mother's chest. Then, it was more tears of shock, disbelieving sobs. Now, it was the heartbroken weeping of a thirteen year old girl who had raised her younger brother practically by herself and had witnessed the cruel killing of her parents before her eyes. A girl who'd lost almost everything.

I don't know how long I stood there, holding Bella, before Sirius came to stand next to me.

"We need to go," he says, softly. "The Portkey leaves soon."

Bella pulls back slightly from my chest. I take her hand.

"We're traveling by Portkey?" Bella asks. I can hear the repressed excitement in her tone.

"Yes," Sirius says, smiling slightly. I squeeze Bella's hand. With my other, I pick up the pile of clothes. Sirius hands me a small black bag, and I stuff everything into it. It's then that I notice Harry holding an old teddy bear in his hand. Bella sees me looking at it, and smiles a little.

"It's Bean," she says, touching the bear fondly. "Harry never lets the thing go."

"_That's _Bean?" I ask, recalling the bear that Lily spent all of her free time during her pregnancy making.

Bella nods. "The one and only."

**Isabella POV**

The Portkey turns out to be an old bent spoon from Grimmauld Place that Sirius had set up while Remus and I had been collecting my things. It wasn't leaving for a few minutes, but we were trying to revive Harry so that there was no chance he would accidentally let go of it, which was, let me tell you, no easy task. I'd already taken away his Bean, and while he'd been angry, he still was totally out of it.

"Harry," I say, for the umpteenth time. "You can sleep when we get there. But you need to be awake _now._"

We're crouched around the table in the living room, where the spoon is sitting. Harry is sitting down on the couch.

"_No_," he groans. He's starting to cry. "Sweep _now._"

"No, Harry. Up now. Sleep later." He doesn't move. "Harry, if you don't get up _now _we're going to leave you here with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia." I know, it's awful, and I shouldn't have said it, but it was the only thing that I could come up with that I thought would work. Tears are falling down Harry's cheeks in torrents now, but he pushes up from the couch and stands up next to the table.

Sirius and Remus come back into the room then, and Harry starts crying even harder. "NO!" he shrieks. He cowers into the couch. Sirius and Remus look startled.

Now I feel even worse about making him upset. "Harry!" I exclaim, shocked. The only people he ever acts like this to are the Dursleys. "They're not going to hurt you, baby. I—"

"No, no, no!" he keeps on shrieking. He grabs his head into his hands, crying hysterically now. "_Stop! _NO!"

Sirius looks worried. "What's happening?" he asks me.

I'm freaking out right now, so I can't focus on responding to him. "Harry! What's wrong?"

"_BEWWA!" _He shouts, louder than ever before. "PWEASE!"

Startled, I pick him up and hold his shaking frame to myself. He fights it for a moment, but then relaxes into my arms. I hold him to my chest, pressing my face into his hair. "Shhh, baby. Shhh. It's okay."

Remus and Sirius are sending me panicked glances, and I know I must look as freaked out as they do. Sirius glances at the clock, and gasps. "NOW!" he exclaims, grabbing onto the spoon. I do, too, and bring Harry's hand, too. I hold on as tight as I can, and make sure he does as well, because soon we're being catapulted through the air and then dropped onto a freshly trimmed lawn. I lay in the grass for a moment, feeling Harry's warm body in my arms and hearing Sirius and Remus breathe next to me.

"Bella?" Remus says. "Sirius? Harry? Everyone okay?"

"Fine," I say.

"Great," Sirius says.

"Good," Remus sighs. I turn my head to see him getting up, the small black back with Bean and all of our stuff slung over his shoulder. He reaches down to help me up, and I take his hand gratefully. Harry's asleep again in my arms, which, I think, is a relief. It's not till I'm standing up that I recognize where we are.

"Lupin Manor!" I exclaim.

Remus laughs but I can hear the nervous tone to it. "I was hoping you would remember."

"Of course," I say. I'd been here countless times, with . . . _mum and dad. _My chest aches. "Where do you want me to put him?" I say, gazing up at the large brick mansion before me. We'd landed in a patch of grass in the back garden, and we're literally surrounded by green and red and pink and white. I lightly step over a small rose bush, making my way to the stairs that lead up to the house.

Remus contemplates rooms a moment. "The Blue Room," he says, finally. We've reached the front door by then, and he pulls out his wand, looking a bit embarrassed. He clears his throat. "I, erm, forgot my key." Sirius, standing next to us, rolls his eyes. "_Alohomora_," he says, and, with a wave of his wand, the lock undoes itself and opens slightly. Remus pushes it in the rest of the way, gesturing for me to go in first. It's the familiar living room, with high ceilings and an elaborate set up of couches and chairs with a large brick fireplace and chandelier hanging in the center of the room.

I almost smile. It's exactly like it was before. Sirius squeezes my shoulder. I hold Harry tighter to my chest, and follow Remus up the staircase—all the way to the third floor, where the Blue Room is. When we get there, Remus opens the door, revealing a room that played a very large role in the majority of my childhood. I'd stayed there, in this very room, during every visit to my godfather, planned many tricks with Bill and Charlie Weasley sitting on that exact rug at the foot of the bed, listened to Tonks—a close family friend and Sirius's cousin—rant about her various boyfriends, and spent hours reading at the window, usually with my mum.

And when I look closer, I can see that some of my books from the last time I'd come are stacked neatly at the antique wooden desk in the corner, including some pictures and books that I was pretty sure had been in our house in . . . _Godric's Hollow. _

I look at Remus. He seems uncomfortable when he says, "Sirius and I went back and got everything we could." I smile gratefully, and lay Harry down on the middle of the large bed. Walking around the room, I examine everything that seems slightly out of place. All of the pictures that I remember being hung in the hall and along the wall of the stairs are on every single flat surface. Pictures of us and Harry, from his first three months, tons of mum and dad and Sirius and Remus, and even more of me and mum and dad together. Remus clears his throat. "Everything else is in James and Lily's room." Like the Blue Room is, in almost every sense, mine, the room down the hall belonged to my parents. My father and Sirius, both being Animagi, came monthly, on the full moon, to accompany Remus during his time as a werewolf, which meant that my parents room was occupied more often than not.

Remus, eyes glassy, tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "We'll be having dinner at six," he says. "But, if you'd like, after Harry wakes up, you and I could take a walk through the grounds before then. You know, to catch up." I nod. Remus studies my eyes. "Three years is a long time."

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